Arrrgh I just saw a story on thee news. Thee relatives of the missionary John Williams who was killed and eaten by cannibals have been hinvited to visit the island where he died so thee descendants of thee cannibals can say sorry :

John Williams and James Harris from the London Missionary Society landed in 1839. Both of these missionaries were killed and eaten by cannibals on the island of Erromanga on November 20 of that year, only minutes after going ashore. Forty-eight years later John Paton wrote, "Thus were the New Hebrides baptized with the blood of martyrs; and Christ thereby told the whole Christian world that he claimed these islands as His own"

Aaargh...if I were thee realtives I'd be wary of a cunnin plan ta get more dinner!

The smoke wafted gently in the breeze across the poop deck and all seemed right in the world.

Twas thee night before xmas and the ship’s biscuits were decorated with sea weed cut into the shape of holly.

"he’s fallen of the plankhe’s walking in the airhe’s floating in the moonlit sea"

The crews merry singing wafted in through me cabin window...arrgh I loves this toim o year when the crew build snowmen (if there aint any snow they use seagull poo) on thee deck and we celebrate the season with some merry plank walkin an extra fish head stew rations all round.

Suddenly there’s a knock on me cabin door an thee First Mate appears:

‘Sorry ta bother ye Capn but we’ve run out o Rum an Plank Walkin Victims, nothing left but weevily ship’s biscuits...is there any chance of doin a shore raid ta get some more provisions?’

It was an excellent idea so we sneaked ashore, me, the captain, dressed as Santa Claus and the crew dressed as elves.

‘Right men’ says I, ‘remember ye be in disguise so what’s does we all say if anyone talks to us?’

‘Yarrgh, Yarrgh, Yarrgh!’ Shouts the cook...

‘Blitherin idiot, says I, ‘it be Ho, Ho, Ho!’

We all headed for a Bustling Inn in the centre of town. The cunning plan was for me to entertain the landlord and the punters whilst the elves crept down into the cellar and stole all the rum.

After a few nervous moments and several remarks of “we aint seen a Father Xmas with an eye patch before”, I settled into a routine of Ho Hoing and regaling the punters with Xmas tales. Things were going well an out of the corner of my eye I could see elves slipping away laden wiv rum an mince pies. I’d just finished the tale of Tiny Tim and most of the punters were sobbing into their tankards when there was a loud knock on the door and the village constable appeared!

‘I wants a word with thee landlord,’ says the rosser, ‘I’ve been told to be on the look out for Pirates in the area!’

‘Pirates?’ says the landlord, ‘Don’t be daft, come in and have an xmas drink constable.’

The constable refused the drink saying he was on duty and anyway he’d just been given a tot of rum and a mince pie by a huge elf with a peg leg.

Oh gawd thinks I, that’ll be the cook, thee crew’s been at thee rum already...if I don’t round the blaggards up soon there’ll be drunken elves all over the place! I tried making my excuses and making for the exit but the landlord grabbed me and said:

‘Ye can’t go Santa, not without handin out the presents to the village orphans and waifs.’

‘150 says the Landlord, we get at lot o rapin an pillagin on this coast!’

By thee toim I got back to thee ship the elf crew were lyin in a drunken heap with mince pie crumbs all over thee place. Sigh, weevily biscuits fer me xmas supper again! Still...lookin on thee bright side I’m invited back to the Inn for next years Xmas Party and one of thee Drunken elves was singin:

**** you I wont do what you tell me**** you I wont do what you tell me

It may be thee xmas number one but in my book that be mutiny!

The smoke wafted gently in the breeze across the poop deck and all seemed right in the world.